


House of M: A Man for all Seasons

by thecat_13145



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (House of M)
Genre: House of M - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Bucky Barnes life in the House of M</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Man for all seasons

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because I hated the depiction of Bucky in the House of M, both in Civil War 3 and Captain America 10. This fic was an attempt at correct this. If anyone can suggest anywhere else I could post it, I'd be really grateful. It's a bit different to my normal style and unbetaed, so let me know how it works out.

Daffodils.

He was trying hard not to scream, harder than he had fought when Zemo sent a whip over his back. But it was hard when every muscle, every sinew, every cell in his body wanted to scream at Steve “That’s Not Me!”

Couldn’t’ Steve tell? Couldn’t he see the way Davis’s hand (metal, his true one lost during a mutant suicide bombing at the stadium and hidden beneath the artificial skin) moved stiffly and unnaturally? Didn’t he notice that rather than his usual (banana spilt with extra whipped cream) Davis had ordered a coffee?

And most importantly, didn’t Steve know he’d never turn his back on a friend, never abandon Toro?

“Get him out of here.” A voice, he couldn’t see who it was, snarled at him. “If he loves mutants so much put him with them.”

He lay like a rag doll in their arms, not thinking, not really feeling. Steve wasn’t coming to rescue him. How could he when he didn’t even realise he was missing?

Collapsing as they flung him into a cell, James Buchanan Barnes drew his legs up to his chest and fought harder than he had done in nearly 20 years to keep the tears inside, to be brave.

“Kid?” The voice sounded raspy, like it hadn’t been used for a while. Bucky couldn’t blame him. What was the point talking when no one listened?

“Kid?” It was a bit more persistent this time, and he could see the speaker. Black hair in turfs like a lion’s mane, blue eyes staring at him out of a face that looked old and tired. “What are you doing here, kid? You ain’t a mutant.”

And in spite of his best intentions, James Buchan Barnes found himself crying. Weeping at the fact that this man, who’d met him maybe three or four times knew him better than the man he’d thought of as his big brother.

Heat of summer sunshine.

“Won’t be long now, kid.” He wasn’t sure if Logan meant till they were shot or till the fever killed him. He wasn’t even sure if he’d actually heard the words, or if he’d just translated the grunts and animal noises Logan made. It had been too long since anyone actually spoke to him.

The guards talked, but they either talked at them, or as though they’re deaf or stupid.

It’s been three days since the power went out and the guards stopped coming.

He turned groaning softly, seeking the last bit of cool from the water Logan had poured on his face. Or where he’d licked him, he wasn’t quite sure which one.

Suddenly Logan stiffened, his head cocked like a dog’s.

Bucky strained his ears into the distance, realising he could hear it to, the faint hum of voices, the stomp of feet coming closer.

“How many?”

“Three, I think.”

“Powers?”

“One’s got a healing factor and claws. Another, the kid can fly and shoot blasts. I don’t know about the third, he’s just always been there.”  
If he was going to be taken out and shot, he was going to face them on his feet. Jess, the little kid Dum Dum had flung in with them after Fury was summoned to Washington,      back up against the wall. Logan’s claws were out and he was growling, furious at anyone trying to hurt his...pack was the only good description.

He heard the sound of a key in the lock, but wasn’t quick enough to shield his eyes, as the light from the outside world came rushing in.

“Dear God.” He heard, and noticed the feet that he could just see through the edges of his vision were webbed.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

“Bucky is dead.”

“I know that, and I ain’t arguing with you about that.”

_Could have fooled me_ James thought, as he watched the mutant take devour the meatloaf.

“All I’m saying is that don’t mean you have to be.”

James shrugged, managing not to wince as he swallowed the piping hot coffee. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan snorted. “We’re been out of that pit for a year now, have you even looked at the world outside?”

“Have you?” He shot back, almost immediately regretting it, as he felt the eyes of everyone in SHEILD cafeteria on them. Logan glared and everyone immediately went back to what ever they were doing.

“I know it’s hard, feeling like a foreigner in your own land, but you don’t have to do it alone.” At Bucky’s rolled eyeballs, he slapped him on the back of the head. “Don’t take that attitude with me, kid, I saw Tasha making eyes at you.”

Bucky grimaced. “In case you’ve forgotten, she’s at least ten years younger than me.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” James had to acknowledge that for Logan, ten years was nothing. “She’s smart, beautiful, a heck of a fighter…”

“And suitable for me, cause she’s a Sap.” James shot back, bitterly. He watched the sorrow in the mutant’s eyes as he looked him, a look almost identical to Steve’s when he saw Bucky hurt or returning from a mission.

“That’s not what I said or thought, kid.”

“No, but it’s what everyone else is.” He got to his feet, suddenly feeling sick. “You’re an exile returning home, Logan. I’m just a refugee here.”

 

Winter Soldier

It was a little morbid, probably visiting your own grave. Seeing the words that someone else had chosen carved on a tombstone with your name above it.

He’d heard about the funeral of course, and Logan had even persuaded some one to show him the news footage of it.

Steve hadn’t said anything, he didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t allowed to, or he simply couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Squatting by the grave, he traced the caved stone letters spelling out “Bucky.”

He smiled softly. It seemed fitting. He wasn’t Bucky anymore; he was the Winter Soldier, even if Logan had to stop himself busting a gut every time he said it.

Bucky didn’t think a guy called Wolverine was in any position to point fingers.

He gazed at the stone, wandering if he should apologize. But he couldn’t feel guilty. Davis had known the risks.

Slowly, he got to his feet, dusting the earth from his knees. Logan was right; it was a mistake to come here. What he was seeking, a connection with someone, anyone, in this world wasn’t here.

He was about t move off when a voice came from behind him.

“Bucky?” He turned his head, cursing at the automatic response, to see a young man with black hair staring at him.

“Bucky!?” He barely had a moment before he was grabbed into a bear hug. “It is you. What happened? How did it happen?”

He opened his mouth, ready to deny everything that Toro was saying to him, when he realized this was what he was seeking. A connection with someone.

“It’s a long story.”

Toro shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He nodded, slowly, as Toro’s arm was flung over his shoulders. For a moment he resisted and then he lent into the touch.

“It wasn’t me.” He said, softly. Toro nodded. “I know.”


	2. House of M: Seasons in the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Raymond (Toro's) life in the House of M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for [](http://ani-bester.livejournal.com/)**_ani_bester_** who requested more of Toro's life in House of M. As snow has cancelled my activities, I have time to write. Unbetaed  
> 

Goodbye to you my trusted friend

“He’s not Bucky!” maybe if he repeats this often enough, someone will actually listen to him. Steve looks at him.

“Son, I know things are difficult at the moment, and I admit Bucky’s being acting a little strange, but he is still the same guy you knew_”

“NO!” Toro yells all plans to be calm forgotten in an instant. “He’s not the same.”

How can anyone not see it? See the light roots of the hair, the barely noticeable scars from laser treatment? Or more importantly, Doesn’t Steve remember Bucky being the only one not freaked out when Torch admitted that Toro was a mutant, back in the day? Remember Bucky giving that Sergeant a bloody nose, when he called some pink Triangles perverts? Remember the bruises on Bucky when he stood up for Davey?

James Buchan Barnes was the most tolerant person Toro had ever met and that included Steve who was a little inclined to be patronising and Pig headed when the mood took him. But Bucky always looked for the other guys’ side, even if he couldn’t understand.

He can feel the pity of Steve’s eyes on him, as if he’d heard the terms Fake-Bucky used.

Monster, Animal, Mistake of Nature, Freak.

“People Change son.”

He looks up and meets the eyes defiantly.

“Not that much!”

Goodbye Papa, Please pray for me

It felt ridiculous, standing here, forbidden to speak, listening to people going on and on about what a fine young man James Buchan Barnes had been, and how proud he had been to give his life in the service of his country.

The only problem was, the body in the box wasn’t James Buchan Barnes. He didn’t know who it was, though he thought he’d seen them somewhere before, but he knew it wasn’t Bucky, with the same certainty he knew his own name or that Hitler had been a menace.

He could hear someone laughing and looked around, seeking the one person who understood this, who found holding a service for a man who was still alive as silly as he did. Then he felt strong hands gripping him, guiding him away from the grave and realised that the laughter was coming from him.

Jim Hammond stood so that they were on a level, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“It’s O.K., Toro.” He said, softly. “grief affects us all in strange ways.”

He shook his head. “It’s not Bucky, so why are they talking about him like he’s dead?”

He watched the android’s face pucker slightly. “You need to stop this, Toro.” He said, gently. “I know how much his stance on the...issue hurt you, but you have to accept it. Bucky isn’t coming back.”

“He’s not dead.”  
he watched as the android, looking very human, bite his lip. “Come on, let’s go home.”

There are moments where we all make decisions, and looking at the grave stone, Toro knew he made one.

“No.” He said, firmly.

“Toro, you have to_”

“Wanna bet?” He’s starting to flame on, drawing it from deep within himself, tapping into his anger. “Bucky’s still alive, and I’m to find him.”

“Toro, don’t be ridicu_”

He shook himself free.

“Say goodbye to Anne for me.” Jim grabbed him again.

“Toro, you know the instant you leave our house, the Sentinels’ll be after you.”

He’s never told anyone about the tags Nick gave soon after the first ones made an appearance. He said they’d keep Toro safe, and Toro had never known Nick break his word. When he asked Nick why he was doing this, why he was still head of SHIELD, when it was obvious to a blind man what he really thought of their policies, Nick had looked about 150 and muttered. “Maybe I’m scared of what my replacement would do.”

It was sad to Think that Nick understood the situation better than Torch, better than Steve.

Slowly, he shook the artificial hand off him. “Goodbye Jim.”

He doesn’t look back.

 

Goodbye Michelle, my little one

“They say it’s all over, bar the shouting.”

To most people, it would probably look like Jean Paul Beauier was getting closer to Toro for the warmth the other man generated. Toro however could feel the rubbing that suggested he had ulterior motives for the conversation.

“Really?” he muttered, gazing into the fire, barely paying attention. Another lead had dried up, and he was rapidly running out of ideas.

Jean Paul nodded. “Uhu. They say Mutants are going to win.” He paused, looking around. “What will you do? When’s the war’s over and we don’t have to live like this?”

He waved his hand encompassing their little band, huddled around a camp fire.

Europe was different from America. No less anti-mutant, in theory, but the borders helped them. Sentinels can’t be used; if the threat is always present that you might start World War 3. So providing they stayed out of the authorities’ way, away from the Big Cities, they were OK.

Returning to his roots as a circus performer felt both natural and unnatural.

Here they called him Flaming Man, never asking for any other name, after he burnt the hand of the circus owner, when he tried to hold back the money they had earned. Toro didn’t feel guilty; the man was one of those encouraging Mutants to join Magneto, by holding back what they had earned honestly. And he had no sympathy with those who’d take food from the mouths of mothers and children.

“They say there’s good money in SHIELD.”

He stole a glance at the blue skinned woman who gave her name as Mystique, her two year old son Kurt walking still uncertainly on legs too thin to properly support him. he watched as she held out her hands and the little demon like child tootled into them.

Jean Paul nodded in agreement. “It has its advantages. Good money and a chance to get a proper education. And to help the cause.”

Sometimes Toro wandered why this young acrobat hadn’t already joined Magneto, but then he watched his eyes rest on his sister, Jeanne Marie. Both were all lines, but where Jean Paul was all sharp lines and harsh angles, there was something about Jeanne Marie that suggests comfort and other things. He was fairly certain that the money she occasionally adds to the pot was not from her performance, or at least not the performance with her brother. Then again, more than once Jean Paul had added similarly mysterious money.

It was sad that frequently it had been that money which kept them away from starvation.

He realised that they were looking at him, evidently waiting for his response.

“Don’t know.” He admits softly, “probably keep looking.”

He had to keep looking. He stayed away from the obvious choices, the Invaders. The only ones he felt he could have trusted were Brian and Roger, but they were both dead, a car crash nearly ten years before fake Bucky’s death.

So he kept to the back roads, hunted down the old resistance members, the old forgers, black marketers, the smugglers, the arms dealers, people Bucky might have got in contact with if he was in trouble.

“You will forgive, my friend, if I ask what are you looking for?” He looked into the yellow eyes of Mystique. He wasn’t sure where she was from, she never volunteered it, any more than she offered a real name, but turns of phrases like that made him suspect that if she wasn’t German then she had spent a lot of time there. He looked at Kurt’s ears and furry blue face peeking out from behind his mother’s arms as she wrapped him up. Both mother and child were too thin and he didn’t blame her for being interested in SHIELD. At least they would give them both a decent meal.

“The truth.” He said, softly. “How this could happen?”

Mystique let out a bitter laugh, her eyes running over an old news paper reporting the death of Gordon Creed that was serving as a blanket for her child.

“Aren’t we all asking ourselves that, Mein Herr? Aren’t we all?”

He smiled, uncomfortably, as Jean Paul pushed himself closer, his hands wandering across Toro’s chest towards the sticks piled on the other side. As the hand paused, Toro all but jumped to his feet.

“Got to...” he muttered, gesturing with his head. Ignoring the nods and mutters of the others, he stepped away from the group, away from wandering hands that were so like and so far apart from what he was looking for.

Away, he leant against the tree, allowing himself a moment of despair. What was he going to do?

He’d been looking for years, heard nothing, found nothing. maybe he was being stupid, Maybe Steve and Jim were right. Maybe Bucky really was...

“Excuse me.” He turned slightly to see the blind fortune teller standing a few feet from him, looking at him.

“What you are seeking,” she said, her voice soft. “You will find it when you go home.”

He blinked, as the woman turned and walked away.

He shook his head. He’d better listen to her. There was a reason they called her Destiny

I wish that we could both be there

He tended to avoid Fake Bucky’s grave, with its memories of his final conversation with Torch.

Anne had looked like she’d seen a ghost when he turned up on her doorstep. Then she hugged him, almost breaking his ribs, before dragging into the house.

It was there that she told him that Jim was dead, or more accurately deactivated. Tears streamed down her face as she told him how it happened. How torch had taken the power of an exploding nuclear reactor into himself, destabilising his powers. How he’d flown into the atmosphere to avoid hurting anyone. How Magneto himself had praised his bravery, awarded a medal to his weeping widow.

She tried to talk him into staying, but too much had happened, too much had been said for him to stay.

He also couldn’t help seeing the house as a prison, however unintentionally that had been.

So he’d grabbed what he’d left behind when he walked away from the grave, and found a small apartment and kept looking.

Occasionally rumours reached his ears. Of a SHIELD agent who moved with the skill of a mutant, but whose genes were human.

Every time he tried to find out more, he found doors closed. He might be one of them, but most Mutants saw him as a traitor, for not joining Magneto, for vanishing off the map when they needed him.

Mutants might be in control, but that didn’t mean they like Toro much more than their human predecessors.

 Until that morning, when he found a note pinned to his door.

_Plot 72_

_Arlington National Cemetery,_

_07:15 Hrs_

_Be there. The answers’ll be waiting._

_A friend._

He didn’t know why he believed the note. Just that the writing seemed familiar.

He’d brought some flowers at the gate, just to make it look better.

By the grave a youngish man was kneeling. Even from where he stood, Toro could see the winged M that was the symbol of SHIELD, and he felt his hands began to flame on.

He knew there were those who hated the man buried here, for killing Xavier, and he couldn’t honestly say he blamed them. But he was dammed if he was going to let some freak desecrate the only grave his friend was likely to get.

Then he realised that the agent wasn’t desecrating the grave. He watched as the agent got to his feet, dusting his knees, shaking dark hair out of his hair. He knew that gesture, He’d seen it done a thousand times, after laying or diffusing a bomb, after examining a plan laid out on the ground by Nick Fury or Cap.

“Bucky?”

The head turned.

“Bucky!?” he couldn’t stop himself; suddenly the man was in his arms, fitting like nothing had changed. “It is you.” It was a prayer, of thanks, of relief, of amazement.

“What happened? How did it happen?”

He watched the familiar mouth open to deny, and saw him stop.

“It’s a long story.”

He didn’t care. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.” He muttered, reluctantly releasing Bucky, but keeping his arm around him.

He watched the conflict in the former Kid Commando’s face, before he leant into the touch.

“It wasn’t me.” The whisper was so soft, he almost didn’t hear it.

“I know.” He replied, simply.


	3. House of M:  An Innocent Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Life in the House of M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Man for all seasons and Seasons in the sun. For ani bester and [ **ladyblkrose**](http://ladyblkrose.livejournal.com/)  who both asked for a sequel. If anyone can suggest anywhere else I could post it, I'd be really grateful. It's a bit different to my normal style and unbetaed, so let me know how it works out.

Old Shadows

Toro sat saddling Bucky, running his hands over his scars.

Some were old and familiar, like the creases in a well read paperback.

Some were new, Bucky still wincing slightly as his hands combed over them.

And then there were the others, the ones that made him think of what Bucky had told him about his captivity by SHIELD, the ones that made him feel sick to his stomach.

Gently, he let his hand run over the most stylised of these, a star cut into upper part of his arm.

“This must have been deep,” he muttered.

“Hmmm.” Bucky grunted, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Why did they do it?”

Bucky shrugged. “A lot of the others, they have a scar there. An M. But I wasn’t a mutant.”

“So they carved on a symbol of what you were.” Toro muttered. He put his head on one side. “Do you think they meant it to be Cap’s symbol or the Soviets?”

Under him Bucky stiffened, seeking to be free.

“Dum Dum...” he said, his voice very, very quiet, “He did it, after Nick was summoned to Washington. Used his combat knife. Cut almost to the bone. It got infected. I was lucky not to lose it.”

To someone who didn’t know the former sidekick, the words would have sounded emotionless, defeatist. But Toro could hear the incomprehension of how a man they trusted could have betrayed them, Bucky’s confusion at how the world had changed so much, and the pain of it all.

“Seems appropriate.” He muttered, softly. He paused, bending down to kiss the scar.

“Do you think, if it hadn’t...would you have taken the mask?”

Bucky turned his head to stare at the wall, as he answered. “No.”

 

Long Shadows

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t see the point of this mission.”

Bucky resisted the desire to roll his eyes by gritting his teeth. This Eli kid was too respectful, too in awe for his tastes.

“Probably the most important lesson you’re going to learn from me. And one I wish I’d understood at your age.”

The weak snow was falling, which was going to make the jump tricky, but what was life without some risks? Might even show him what this kid was made of.

“Now get moving, kid. I’m not bailing you out.”

The swan dive off the roof, with a roll in a crouch, he admit, it was showing off. And he was impressed when Eli nearly perfectly mimicked it.

He was Bradley’s kid alright, and maybe he would do a better job of staying alive than his old man had managed. That was the reason he’d chosen him.

The kid had leadership skills; he just had to learn to trust them.

“Know where we are?”

Eli nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Where?”

He watched as Eli looked around him.

“McCarthy Cemetery.”

Bucky nodded. “A false cemetery, of course. There are hardly any bodies here. We’re here to visit one of them.”

They walked around stone angels, slabs of marble and granite, stars of David and Moon and stars.

“I knew your grandfather.” He said conversationally, feeling the young man by his side stiffen.

“He was a traitor and a deserter.” The emotion flowing though was the first honest response he’d got from him.

“Maybe. But he saved my life.”

He paused, reading off a stone at his feet.

“Jack Monroe. Born 7th December 1941.”

He turned to face Eli.

“Know why he’s here?”

Eli shrugged. “Not specifically him sir, but most of the people here...they refused to hand over Mutants to the Senate Committee on Mutant Activities didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Bucky said, brushing the snow off a second, large tomb stone that stood next to it. “Except that isn’t true for Munroe.”

He indicated a second tombstone. “Read the name on that.”

“Steve Rogers. But Captain America’s still...”  
Bucky held up a hand.

“This was a different Captain America, kid, a man who admired the original so much that he changed his name and appearance to look like him.” He paused, chewing slightly on his lip.

“You’re too young to remember the Senate Committee on Mutant Activities, but when Cap unmasked...” he shook his head. “There was a big reaction.”

“That’s when you were arrested, wasn’t it...sir?” the uncertainty was there, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Cause I wouldn’t give them my friends. Wouldn’t lie for them, but wasn’t smart enough to expose them.”

He shook himself, trying to get rid of the ghosts. “The senate had a plan, to try and lure the Mutants they were seeking out of hiding. Munroe looked a bit like me, and they were sure they could use him, to trick a...a friend of Bucky’s, who wouldn’t believe the lies they were trying to feed him.”

“What happened?” Eli’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“They sent him after Namor. Of course, the guy saw right through it. Subby might smell of fish, but he’s not stupid.”

He paused. “Namor sent him back with a flea in his ear.” Chewing on his lip, he continued. “This guy, Steve Rogers, He knew what they’d do. That night, he,” he swallowed. “He turned the gas on. Kid and he were dead in the morning.”

He paused. “If the trick had worked, if they’d got Namor, then they would have paraded him as a puppet, used him to convince others that Magneto was wrong, that the camps were lie. Yet he’s buried next to mutants who died rather than give up their friends.”

He turned to look at Eli. “What does that tell you kid?”  
Eli’s face was a picture of confusion. “I...I don’t know sir.”

“History is how you look at it.” He turned.

“Sir.” The voice sounded more uncertain than it had at the beginning, but it was determined. “My grandfather, sir, can you tell me about him?”  
Bucky grinned. “Only if you stop calling me sir!”

Save me from myself

“I don’t want to go!”

Toro had to admire Kurt’s abilities. Barely 5 years old, and already an exceptional climber. Of course when Mystique was going frantic in the camp, and you were on the top floor of a German castle that looked like it might fall off the cliffs at any moment, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“I don’t want to go to America. Everyone says how bad it is. I want to stay here, with the circus. Amanda says I can start learning on the trapeze next year.”

Toro smiled. There was no doubt in his mind that the little elf would be good on the traipses, he had a natural love of being the centre of attention, and his mutation seemed to mean his body was perfectly designed for it.

“Jean Paul is going to America too. He could teach you there.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, in a way that expressed his contempt for the stupidity of his elders.

“I don’t want to go to America. I don’t like that Mr. Shore. He’s creepy.”

Toro couldn’t say he disagreed with Kurt’s opinion, but he forced himself to remember that he’d found Nick “Creepy” the first time he’d met him.

His sorrow, as he remembered the reported death of the man must have shown in his face, as Kurt asked.

“Are you thinking about him?”

“Who?”

“Bucky.” The small mutant hung upside down on the bar. “You call out his name in your sleep sometimes. Mother says that he was a bad man. That he killed a mutant”

Toro forced himself to swallow. “Well, that’s what a lot of people think, but I think they’re wrong. I think that they used someone who looked like my friend to do that and I think Bucky’s in trouble. So I’m trying to find him.”

He watched as Kurt digested this information, before nodding. “Mr. Shore said Shield finds people.”

“It used to.” He agreed diplomatically.

“Are you going to Join SHIELD?”

He shook his head. “I can’t. My powers...they’re too unstable.”

It’s a lie, and he should feel bad for it, but Kurt nods.

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged.  “You ready to go back to your mum?”

He held out his arms and Kurt moved into them.

“Will you come and visit us in America, flaming man?”

Toro bit on his lip. “We’ll see.”  
Kurt nodded. “When I’m grown up, I could help find Bucky.”

Toro smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Kurt.”

He watched as the little child gave a large yawn.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to your mum.”

Kurt was almost asleep against his chest, soothed by the warmth and tired by the excitement.

“And I’ll” yawn “Help you find Toro too.” He muttered, falling asleep against his chest.

Toro swallowed, determined not to cry.

“Thanks kiddo.” He muttered, a part of him praying that it wasn’t too late for Toro to be saved.

 

 

Repeats

 

“Sapien lover.”

It was a whisper, but to Toro, it was as good as a shout, as he joined Bucky at their table. Bucky’s spoon stabbed the banana as though it personally has offended him.

“Ignore him.”

“I’d rather shoot him.”

Toro sipped his sundae, wandering if he dares ask.

“Do they... In SHIELD... Do they call you...stuff?” he finished lamely, but he’s never had Bucky’s courage. He knows some of the terms they use against Sapiens; he’s heard them in the street. Genejoke, Monkey, retard, Sap. He remembers how much fake Bucky’s words hurt him, the words he used.

He doesn’t think he could bear it if someone was using them against his Bucky.

James shook his head. “No.” Toro

contentedly went back to his sundae, the sucking noises loud enough to hide out the muttered. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t think it.”

Clothes Maketh the man

Bucky’s old uniform was never close fitting, like his, it was always loose, so that it could be easily discarded.

The SHIELD uniform is black leather, looking almost as though it’s being poured on to the wearer. He’s heard rumours that the agents have to be issued with special underwear to avoid public indecency laws.

He sees Rogue standing by the bar, and thinks that she could be arrested in that thing, regulation underwear or not. Then again, Bucky’s butt in that thing should be illegal. It probably is in the Southern states.

He watches Logan chuck another shot down his throat, the blue eyes revealing he isn’t as drunk as he’s trying to pretend. The slightly haunted look in his eyes makes him wander if that’s a good thing.

He watches as Bucky and Rogue carry the drinks back to their table, Mystique pointedly not acknowledging Bucky more than she has to, and decides that he prefers the old uniform, even though Bucky was considerably less eager to get out of it.

But he also doesn’t have to deal with the dead look in his lover’s eyes.


End file.
